


Break a Leg

by TheFaceofaMouse



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Insecurity, M/M, chubby! Marco, cool-kid actor Jean who's kinda popular, eventual drinking and drug use be warned, ngl this will probably get smutty in the future, skin picking warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/pseuds/TheFaceofaMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll be real with you, it's just another college AU, except this time we got us a chubby little loser Marco and a flamboyant and sassy Jean. They are both film majors. Watch as their awkward and endearing relationship blossoms~ (this summary needs help)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting the Stage

[SCENE 1:] Interior, college dorm. One bed, one desk, reasonably well-kept. Our protagonist MARCO BODT, an awkward and pudgy 19 year old, stands in front of his closet flitting between shirts. His expression should be nervous yet pleasant.

* * *

The show is going to start in an hour, and Marco still hadn’t decided which dumb shirt to wear.

            He doesn’t normally attend big social events at his school unless he knows someone there, but his department’s chair made it quite clear that it was more or less mandatory that _all_ the film students see what the theatre kids were up to, since they were technically all part of the same major. ‘Who knows, you could all be working together in the industry down the line. Best to make friends now, ’ the chair had said.  

Yeah, that would be a smart thing to do. Make friends with all your peers and be the perfect socialite so you have good connections for the future.  _Networking_ and all that.  But Marco was…well, he was the kind of guy who had been staring at his closet for the past 20 minutes unable to decide if he should wear his favorite 1up mushroom shirt and a flannel or a dark button-down with slacks.  Do you dress casually and treat it like you don’t care, or do you show a little respect and risk looking like you care a bit too much? These were tough choices.

Tough choices for Marco, at any rate. 

            He had been to plays in the past, and he was pretty certain you were supposed to look somewhat presentable, even if you were just sitting in the unlit recesses of the theater. His parents always made him dress nicely, so maybe it’s just best to stick with what he knew.  He pulled the dark button-down off of the closet rack, hoping that he’d get over the anxiety he felt about going alone. 

Marco wasn’t one to be so concerned about things like appearance. He wasn’t vain, but what he was nervous about was looking like he was out of place. He felt like people could always just _tell_ when he was somewhere he didn’t belong, like he wore a sign that read “I AM AWKWARD AND OUT OF PLACE” right across his forehead.  Even if he was a film major, the crowded theatre clearly wasn’t his environment. He was more involved with the behind-the-scenes work, writing up his own screenplays and figuring out meaningful dialogue between interesting protagonists.  Marco loved film and theatre for the stories that they told, and he had stories to tell, but you couldn’t get him in front of a camera, let alone an audience.  No, he felt much more at peace behind a computer with an in-progress word document open (and some snacks.)

            He gave a long sigh, wishing to exhale the anxiety he was holding on to. _No one cares, Marco. No one’s going to even notice you’re there,_ he reassured as he slipped one arm through the shirt that needlessly tormented him for what was now the past half-hour.  Jeez, he’ll be late at this point. He still hadn’t even bought a ticket for admission.  Marco slipped on his shoes, applied one spritz of cologne, and gave himself the once over in the mirror before grabbing his keys and heading out the dorm.

            Who knows, maybe he’ll see someone he can say try to say hi to.

* * *

            Marco checked his watch again. This was the third time in the past two minutes. 6:48. Okay, okay. He could still find a seat. He could still get in before they closed the doors. He was third in line for a ticket, but the ushers had already announced they were going to close the doors and shut off the lights in five.

 Looking around, he realized he recognized quite a few people from his department. It was a little reassuring, but it was still so early in the semester he didn’t even know anyone’s name.  He gave a weak little wave to one or two people who smiled back at him, but no friendly “hey how’s it goins” or “glad you could make its.”  Just acknowledgments of his existence. It was certainly better than nothing, he figured.  

And as if to add insult to injury, he realized all too late that he was indeed dressed a little too formally for the occasion. Drat... he knew this shirt was a bad choice. It as if he was _trying_ to set himself up to feel lame.

            Marco hurriedly paid for his ticket and found a seat towards the back of the theater. He thumbed at the small piece of paper, realizing he didn’t even know what play he was about to see. _West Side Story,_ he read. Oh, it was a musical, not a play. He was familiar with this one. This should be a fun show.

The set design on stage was actually remarkably elaborate, too. They had what looked to be a fully mobile wall with graffiti and a section made to look like chain-linked fence. He didn’t realize his school’s theatre department had the budget for such a show.  That, or there were some dedicated people working on the set with out of pocket money.  Judging by the way the each set piece seemed painstakingly put together, he leaned towards his latter assumption.

            He started reading off the names of the actors because there wasn’t enough time to do much anything else really.  Right then, the lights began to dim and the noisy auditorium started to hush. He only saw the first few names:

 Christa Lenz

Eren Jeager

Mina Carolina

 Jean Kirschtein

Thomas Wagner

He put the pamphlet down on his lap and folded his hands, looking up towards the stage. 

            Hmm, Jean Kirschtein. Funny name. It sounded familiar for some reason…

            Marco sat through the show pleasantly entertained, much more involved in the performance than he had expected to be.  Shortly after the show began, he had forgotten about all of his apprehensions about being there in the first place and was engrossed in the majesty of the live performance.  Something about seeing live performers skillfully paint their emotions on to the canvas of the stage was just captivating.

            This was it, this was what he was going to school for.  Whether it’s a movie, or a play, or a game – he just really loved the nature of a medium that could take you out of your mundane life and transport you somewhere much more magnificent.  Somewhere magical. 

Maybe one day he’d be able to create magic like this for someone else. It was a pleasant thought, and it inspired a soft little smile upon his dimpled face.

            And wow, these actors were doing a splendid job, he noted.  He was quite taken with the actor playing Tony, whoever he was. Oh what was his name again? Marco wanted to take out his phone to view the pamphlet with a little light, but he didn’t want to disturb the people next to him. He’ll just have to wait until intermission. But man, this actor in particular was quite entrancing. His stage presence was powerful and natural, and he was a handsome man, no doubt. He had trendy two-toned hair, light on the top and dark on the bottom, and sharp, almost pained eyes, if Marco wasn’t mistaken. 

Now that he thought about it, Marco was quite sure he had seen him around school once or twice. He was often alone, but always waving and chatting with each person he passed, like he knew everyone.  Made sense. Most of the theatre kids were quite charismatic by default. It seemed to be part of their nature.

Marco felt a weird pang in his chest. Not quite jealousy. Not quite loneliness. Something in between, but much more subtle.  And the feeling lingered so long as he kept thinking about the charming actor playing Tony on stage. He tried his best to redirect his attention back to the dramatic love story being told, but every so often his mind would wander again.

When intermission finally came, Marco didn’t stir from his seat. The lights in the hall came back on, and Marco whipped out the pamphlet, scanning the names of the actors quickly once again. Ahh, which one was it?

Nope.

No.

Nuh-uh.

Jean Kirschtein. 

Nada

That’s the name. Of course he recognized it. It was good to finally put a face to the name he heard around campus.  He vaguely remembers hearing a conversation between his classmates.  They were going on about much of a pain the guy was to work with.  Something about how he and one of the other actors were always butting heads.  Marco didn’t want to think poorly of the actor he was so keen on. No, his classmates were probably mistaken. Marco couldn’t help but be a little biased for the guy, immediately trying to reason in his mind that Jean’s just _quirky_ like that, or that maybe he had a reason to be aggressive with the other actor. 

It was silly.  All he had to go off for this guy was how charming he was to watch on stage, and how good-looking he was… Marco felt a little shallow for making all these assumptions about a guy he’s never met based solely upon his, well, _looks_ , but making up characters and stories was sort of his forte, right? He was supposed to be imaginative like this, and something about this guy on stage was inspiring him, so better not let that inspiration go to waste. Unfortunately, he snapped out of his creative tangent when the lights were dimmed once again and everyone began shuffling back to their seats.

After the show, Marco waited until the theatre was a little less congested with students before making his way to the front of the stage. He wanted to leave as soon as he could, but first he wanted to go inspect the set pieces a little more closely.

The phone is Marco’s pocket gave a buzz as he made his way to the stage.  He pulled it out of his pocket and unlocked the screen.

 

From Connie:

_hey you still healing for the raid tonight? sasha said you might not make it_

            Shoot. Marco almost forgot he was strapped for time. He told his WoW party he would be on by ten, and it was already fifteen minutes after the fact. He shook his head as he typed out a reply.

 

To: Connie

_Yes, I’ll be there, sorry. Just had to see a show for class. Be on soon._

Marco knew he could linger a while.  They surely weren’t going anywhere without him.  If you were still playing World of Warcraft in _college_ on a school night _,_ you were probably not in a position to rush one of your most vital party members.

Marco reached the front of the stage. He watched as the stagehands hurriedly unplugged lights, disassembled dollies and set up ladders to prepare for deconstruction. It seemed that all of the crew-members were students as well. One of them he actually knew by name.  A small, rather mousey boy called Armin.

“Hey! Marco!” Armin called over. He was wheeling a dolly across the stage.

“Armin! I didn’t know you were a part of the cast. How’d it go back stage?” Marco leaned on the edge of the stage.  The blonde boy had to kneel down to level with his friend on the floor.

“Fine, fine,” Armin assured. He was smiling, but he seemed tired. “Costume changes were hard, but I think it went pretty smoothly, right? You were in the audience, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah! Saw the whole show. The changes were seamless.” Marco smiled graciously.

“Ah, that’s great. Hey, I’ve better get back to striking.  We’re pretty busy tonight.  First night and all, you know,” Armin smiled apologetically, and Marco raised his hand and gestured for him to carry on his business. “See you in class!”

“Don’t let me interrupt. Great job, again!”  Armin nodded a thank you, unable to hide a satisfied smile.  Marco didn’t know he had a fellow creative-writer amongst the theatre department.  He felt a small wave of relief, as if his being there was a little more validated now.

Just as Marco decided there was nothing more for him to do near the stage other than stand around and awkwardly watch the cast go about their work, he saw him.  The actor.

It was the one who was the lead. The one who was so captivating and delightful to watch.  His energy was high, and he was still in costume, but he wore an accomplished smile despite his clearly exhausted physique.  He was spatting something to one of the other actors.

“Hey fuck you too, man!  Way to try and screw my finale up, you dick,” the actor was laughing as he cursed at what Marco could only assume was a friend of his.  That or a mortal enemy, he couldn’t tell, really.

 _I should talk to him_. _I may never get another chance._

He didn’t know he was thinking it, but he was. Marco didn’t want to miss the chance to have some sort of exchange with this guy.

“Hey! Um…” Marco called lamely, and he really sort of hoped that the actor didn’t hear him. That way he could move on and pretend that he never even attempted to talk to him, but surely enough, the actor, Jean Kirschtein, attentively turned to face him.

Shhhhiiitttt.  You’re committed, now.

“Huh Me?” Jean’s smile was fading.

“You uh, you were really great! On stage, I mean. You did a good job… a GREAT job, aha…” Marco was so nervous he was smiling from ear to ear.

Wow, what a train wreck. This was going to hell so fast.  Marco could tell this guy was busy, and with each word out of his mouth, he felt he was just wasting more and more of his precious time.

“Oh, thanks a lot, man,” Jean’s grin was polite, if not a little strained. Clearly he was not very interested in what this dork of a guy down below was saying, and Marco wished he had never said anything at all.  Even if Jean was a tremendous actor on stage, he was still just another guy at his school. He was probably used to compliments about a job well done, but Marco felt it was somehow weird for him to say something and normal for everyone else. Instead of continuing the conversation, he stood in silence, clenching his fists.

“Umm,” Jean was uncomfortable, and was probably going to say something about how he had to go back stage, but Marco didn’t give him the chance.

“Sorry,” Marco blurted before quickly turning and making a B-line for the exit. 

The good thing about being the awkward, over-weight and soft-spoken kid at your school is that you don’t really have a memorable face.  Even with a generous smattering of freckles, Marco’s face wasn’t the kind that sticks with you. That’s what he always figured at least.  Right now, he was so grateful that this awesome, cool-guy theatre-kid that he idolized in his head was probably not going to remember him at all, and think nothing of him in the weeks to come.  Hopefully he will have forgotten all about their painfully awkward exchange after the night of heavy drinking he was sure was in store for this guy. And maybe in time, Marco will forget, too.

            He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground the entire walk back to his dorm.

[END SCENE]


	2. Making an Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is a bit obsessed with a certain actor...

[SCENE 2:]  Lively lecture hall. Students are chatting happily before class begins.  MARCO BODT sits next to ARMIN ARLERT, towards the middle of the hall. ARMIN is reading a book while MARCO drums on his notepad with a pen.  MARCO seems distracted.

***

            Two weeks had gone by since Marco had seen his school’s production of the West Side Story, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

That night when he got home, he cancelled on his WoW party, making an excuse that he had a headache and needed some rest.  They had been planning that raid for a week, and Connie wouldn’t stop nagging him for bailing.  His phone accrued a series of messages from his group’s main DPS.

 

From Connie:

            dude are you serious?? just clear the first room with us at least. i want the dagger drop it’s got mad deeps dude.

 

From Connie:

            come oooon. Sasha is an awful healer and i don’t wanna wipe 30 times on the first room.

 

From Connie:

            i’ll buy you ice cream or something

From Connie:

            god damn it Marco get online

 

            Marco didn’t read any of the messages until the next day.  He didn’t even notice his phone buzzing off the hook.  Headphones snuggly in place, he was fully engrossed in a full-screened youtube video.  Marco was rewatching every song the character Tony sang in from the West Side Story.  He was inspired.  Transfixed.  He wanted to absorb everything there was to gain from the tired tale of forbidden love, which was essentially all that musical was.  Truthfully, he always thought Romeo and Juliet retells were unimaginative.  How many times can you honestly tell a story about two well-to do straight white people who can’t be together because of familial disputes. _How tragic._ Not very, Marco thought.

Marco started to have this silly fantasy that he would be one of the first screenplay writers to make a more socially-current retell of Romeo and Juliet.  It would be about a gay couple, and it would be about the struggle of coming from a family that doesn’t accept you. Not that he knew too much about that topic.  His parents were quite accepting of his sexual preferences.  In fact, his mom’s enthusiasm was a little embarrassing at times, especially when she would try to point out cute guys at the grocery store and urge him to talk to them.  It wasn’t so much the encouragement that embarrassed him as it was the fact that he didn’t see any perceivable way to just walk up to a guy and start a conversation.  It seemed like a strange thing to do.  And judging by the way things panned out the last time he tried, he didn’t want to attempt it again. Nuh uh. Nope. Never again.

Regardless, he knew that there was a valuable story to be told with his _Romeo and Romeo_ story, or hell, _Juliet and Juliet_ would work just as well.  He thought he was being so clever.  Marco smirked as he jotted down the two possible names for his new idea in his notebook.

Marco already knew what the protagonists should be like, too. One should be a shy and quiet-type, perhaps a little on the thick-side much like himself, but not grotesquely disproportioned or anything.  Just an average, nothing-special guy or girl with a heart of gold. That’s relatable enough.

And the other person should be a popular, well-liked and flawless person.  He or she would be beautiful, and very talented, and extremely well-dressed, and they would fall head over heels for the plain-looking person.  He would have to work with it to make it seem realistic, since stuff like that never happened in real life. Not to most people, anyhow. It would be cute and tragic, though, because if he wanted to stay true to the story, one of them would have to die, followed by the other.  Or he could just kill one of them. Hmm, which one to kill off…  Marco would have to think about that.

What would really make this story work, though, was if the actor for the popular person was charming and likeable, like that Jean Kirschtein guy.  Yeah, Jean would be perfect!  Jean was skinny, handsome, not too tall and not too short. This guy had a very palpable spunk on stage, and not to mention an excellent singing voice.  Marco would have to include a few musical numbers just to hear that strong, bellowing vibrato from Jean once again. His voice was proud and commanding, and possibly a little overbearing on particularly difficult notes, but nothing a few more years of training couldn’t reign in.  That’s why they were in school, after all, to refine their skills and realize their full potential.  Marco was confident in Jean’s ability to be carved into the ideal leader he was meant to be.  Jean was cast as the lead, after all. He could forgive him for being  little less than perfect with his singing.  At least he wasn’t like the guy playing the other lead.  Aaron Jagger or something? That guy went to every extreme with his emotions on stage.  He was too raw. Too dramatic. Jean, though… Jean was much more subtle with both his acting and his singing.  Jean didn’t need to violently scream to display anger, or cackle garishly to express joy.  It seemed more like Jean felt the necessary emotions rather than forced them. That was _talent._

Marco sighed hopelessly as his pen danced around the letters of Jean’s name on his notepad.  Huh, that’s funny.  When did he write that down?  He must’ve been daydreaming again.  As he glanced at the name, his curiosity piqued when he saw that there were little hearts drawn around the name.  At least three hearts.

_Okay, Marco. This is getting a little…_

Marco closed his notebook and back away from his desk, hands folded behind his head.   He assured himself that an idea as simple as making Romeo and Juliet an LGBTQ tale was probably done before, and likely much better than what he was coming up with.  No point in adding the already endless amount of content.  He kept trying to talk himself out of the idea, but that didn’t stop the ideas from flowing.  He was moved by this inspiration.  Perhaps he could use it as a prompt for one of his future assignments, that way he didn’t have to totally sacrifice it.

Suffice it to say it took Marco a good while to realize why he was so invested in this little story of his.  For now, he was blissfully unaware.

 

“Hey, Marco,” Armin nudged him gently.  Marco must have been daydreaming for quite a while.  He had that brief moment of confusion where he had absolutely no idea where he was.  It took him a beat to long to respond.

“Huh?” he asked, a little dazed.  Suddenly he was back in the classroom, reality welcoming him back like a blindfold being ripped away from his eyes.

“You okay? You seem…” Armin searched for the right word. “Distracted.”

 _Distracted._ It seemed to do the feeling injustice.

“Oh.  Sorry, ” Marco chuckled gently, giving an apologetic smile. “Just brainstorming, I guess.

“Oh, you got a story? You should run it by me some time.”

Marco was immediately turned off by the idea.  Normally he loved going to the Starbucks down the street to toss around screenplay pitches with Armin.  They did it at least once a month, if they weren’t too swamped with homework.  This particular story was precious. though.  He didn’t want anybody to know about it or interfere.  He wanted to keep it safe, like a guilty secret.

“Um, maybe.  I don’t really have enough to work with yet, heh.” He laughed weakly.  Even if it was a cover-up, it was true.  He didn’t have anything tangible to share, let alone for Armin to rigorously critique, as he is wont to do.  Marco was decent about accepting critiques.  True, Marco was a little sensitive at times, but Armin was particularly unforgiving when it came to plot structure and character motive.  Marco didn’t think his beloved story was ready to be scrupulously examined by the careful critic, and it may never be.

“All right.  Well, we can just spitball ideas if you want,” Armin smiled before looking back to his book.  Marco politely returned the smile, before reverting his gaze to his notebook.

The teacher soon arrived, inadvertently hushing the lecture hall and readying her desk for the lesson.  Rico Brzenska was her name, but she insisted the students not butcher her last name and just call her Rico for convenience.  Most of the teachers wen by first name anyway.

“Sorry guys, traffic was nasty.  Rico was only about three minutes late, but to a punctual instructor like her, even a minute after the fact was late by her standards. She was out of breath, likely from powerwalking to the building.  “Let’s get started.  Does everyone have their journals? I told you that after last week you would need to show up with them every class meeting,” she warned.

Armin proudly patted his journal, which lay flat on his desk.  Marco’s journal was also in front of him, ready for instruction.  Other students mumbled unenthused “yeahs” and “mhmms.”

“Great,” the teacher beamed, as if she were pleasantly surprised that more than half the students actually did what she asked.

The first ten minutes of class were pretty average.  Rico was going over the syllabus to remind everyone of the dreaded eight page paper due at the end of the term, when all of a sudden came an audible SMACK from the back of the room.  A few students turned to look. Marco included.

 

[Enter JEAN KIRSCTHEIN, a snobbish and almost hostile looking guy.  JEAN should be in bright, flamboyant clothes with various accessories like a heart-shaped keychain, various piercings and trendy necklaces and rings.  Complexion should be uneven.]

 

There, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, legs locked and hip slouching, was Jean. He was chewing gum, carelessly letting his lips smack loudly with each chew.

 _Why is Jean here…_ Marco’s heart nearly stopped.  To him, it was like a celebrity had just entered the classroom.

 Another loud smack.  Jean looked around the room.  He seemed unimpressed, but he smirked and waved, appearing to have seen some familiar faces.

            “Can I help you?” Rico asked, and it sounded more like _what the Hell do you think you’re doing in my classroom_ than a true offering of services.

            “Is this Creative Writing?” Jean asked.

            “Yeeeees,” she drew out the word, trying to weed out motive from the intruder in the classroom.  “Are you transferring in?”

            Jean only nodded in response, already seating himself in the back of the room.  At least three or four voices could be heard whispering quick “hey man’s” to the newcomer.  Even Armin took a moment to wave at him, to which Jean returned the wave.  Marco averted his gaze the second Jean looked in there direction.

            “Okay.”  Rico was clearly perturbed. “See me after class.  We’ll see about getting you on the roster.”

            Rico carried on as if nothing happened.

            Marco, on the other hand…

            Marco’s heart seemed to have stopped beating the moment Jean entered the room.  Was this real? Was this really happening? Was he actually going to be in the same class as Jean Kirschtein?  Marco couldn’t focus.  It wouldn’t be such a big deal if he hadn’t spent the last 14 days of his life briefly preoccupied with thoughts of the guy.  Seeing him around on campus wasn’t so bad.  It wasn’t like Jean noticed him in passing or anything.  But this was a small class, and Marco knew that there would definitely come a time where students were going to have to share their work infront of everyone.  Oh no. Oh nononono.

He was suddenly recounting how frightfully uncouth he was in trying to compliment the guy after the show.  A ball of embarrassment tightened in his gut and his posture began to sink.  He had to rest his head on the desk and squint his eyes in an effort to force the memory out of his head.  Right now, his entire existence felt shameful.  He felt big and clumsy, and he wanted nothing more than to shrink away into nothingness.  As if to make matters worse, he was sitting next to petite, pocket-sized Armin, and that only made him feel more obtuse by simple comparison.  He wanted to vanish…

“Marco, what’s up?” Armin whispered, poking his forearm gently.

            Marco forced a smile onto his face as he sat up quickly.

            “Nothing! I’m good.” He whispered back.  Armin didn’t seem convinced, but he reverted his attention to the front of the classroom nonetheless.  Marco tried to do the same.  Come on, Marco.  Get yourself together. Acting strange was only making things worse.  Just focus on the class.  Focus on what Rico is saying.  Something about writing topics for the final paper.

            For the duration of the class, Marco was mentally preoccupied. 

            Once class was dismissed, Marco tried his best to pack his things as quickly as possible without looking rushed. He didn’t want to alert Armin any further, but he didn’t want to linger here.  What if Jean recognized him?  He was giving himself way too much credit, but what if? He didn’t want to have to subject the guy to his poor conversational skills again. 

            “Hey, Jean!” Armin called to the back of the room.  Jean seemed to be on his way out, but Armin stopped him.

_Armin what the diddly darn heck do you think you are doing??_

“Legout! Hey, what’s up man” Jean started heading in their direction.  Armin met him half way.  Marco didn’t look up from his backpack.  He kept futzing with the contents, acting like he was organizing things so he didn’t have to look up.

“You’re in this class now? Why?”

“I hated my other class.  _Movies that Matter_ or something like that. I dunno it was fuckin dumb.  Plus I heard the homework was super easy for this class.”

“I thought this class was only available to Creative Writing Minors?” Armin was smiling amiably, and Jean didn’t seem bored to tears.  Armin was effortlessly talking to Jean, and Marco was so jealous.

“I just did some extra paper work,” Jean was explaining, but he was called by Rico to come to front of the room, likely to add himself to the roster.  “Hey I’ll catch you later, man.”

“All right! See ya,” Armin replied cheerfully.  Jean moved to front of the classroom.  As he passed, he smirked a little sheepishly to someone behind Marco.  It was a gentle expression he hadn’t seen yet.  Marco turned to see who Jean was directing the smile to, but whoever it was must have left by now.

“Ready to go?”  Armin asked. Marco finished pulling his backpack over his shoulder and they left the room.

“Hey, how do you know Jean?” Marco asked, curious.

“I working on set for the show, remember?”

“Oh! That’s right. Hah, sorry,” Marco laughed gently.

“How do _you_ know Jean?”

Marco had to think about that question.

“I… well, I don’t.”   There was sadness in his response.

After that the conversation died, and the two made their way to their next class.

 

[END SCENE] 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Wow I am truly amazed at how much attention this has gotten! I would like to take a moment to say THANK YOU!!! Thank you for reading, and for all the nice comments!!! I feel I rushed the first chapter and tried to keep it short because I was just testing the waters or something, but I will do my best to write a decent amount for the subsequent chapters. Anyways, thanks again! Hope you enjoyed!!


	3. Inciting Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is probably the worst and best friend that Marco has right now.

[SCENE 3] MARCO BODT’S dorm room.  It’s the weekend following Jean’s addition to the Creative Writing class. SASHA BRAUS and CONNIE SPRINGER are seated on his bed with their backs against the wall, laptops on their laps and various chips and candies scattered around them.  MARCO is at his desk with his computer open as well. Background music plays at an easy volume. They are playing Team Fortress 2.

 

“Aw, come on! I JUST respawned,” Connie whined with frustration.

“Just try to suck a little less, noob,” Sasha badgered matter-of-factly.  She chuckled playfully as Connie pouted, not appreciating her jab at his skill level, which was totally not noob-status.  Connie grew determined and focused.  He was definitely getting _in the zone._

“Connie,” Marco piped up, not looking away from his screen.

“What?!”

“Behind you,” Marco warned, a sly little smirk emerging on his face.

As Connie’s Scout turned around, he was engulfed in flames.  A Pyro had snuck up on him, gaining an advantage on Connie in his clouded state of anger.  Upon the Scout’s death scream, Connie’s screen zoomed in on a screencap of Marco’s victorious Pyro with his stupid Madame Dixie hat painted pink (paint bucket -Pink as Hell, if you wanna get specific with item names.) 

“ _Dominated,”_ the game announced in a foreboding voice.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF- Marco you little _shit.”_ Connie threw a Sour Patch kid at Marco’s head.  It nicked him with the lightest of thuds, and Marco and Sasha both burst out laughing as Connie ragequit the server.  TF2 was never Connie’s game of choice, but Sasha and Marco were always able to convince him to play for at least a little while until he got fed up and left.  His ragequits were just too funny to watch.  They would even record themselves playing from time to time with the intent of eventually uploading the videos to youtube.  Seriously, the sheer creativity of the insults that would come out of this guy’s mouth were just _poetry_ at times.  He had called Sasha a fart-gargling boob-snatching butt-muncher.  Unfortunately they were all too lazy cut and edit actual frag videos, so the recordings just collected virtual dust in Sasha’s computer in a folder affectionately named “Connie the QQer.”

            “Ahaha! Aww,” Sasha had to gasp between fits of laughter.  “He left the map!”

            “I guess that’s our cue to follow suit, hah” Marco and Sasha both dutifully followed their friend out of the server.  Sasha moved her laptop to stand up from the bed and stretch her legs for a minute. She noticed her friend still wore a grim expression of defeat.

            “Conniiiiiieeee,” she sang.

            “I heard Pyro’s hard, bro.” was Connie’s only response.  He was glaring at his screen, but made sure to shoot a hateful little glance in Marco’s direction.  Marco tried to hide a giggle, but he just snorted in his attempt to suppress it.

            “Oh don’t be so butthurt, dude,” Sasha ruffled what would be the hair on her friend’s head, but it was more like rubbing a fuzzy melon.

            “Marco’s just better than you.  Admit it.”  Sasha looked over to Marco, expecting him to agree, but Marco didn’t engage.  He was busy browsing something on google.

            “Tch, whatever,” Connie grumbled.  His little tantrums never lasted long, which is probably why Sasha and Marco didn’t feel too bad about pushing him too much.  He angrily tore open an airhead and began munching, opening a new page to search for something distracting on youtube.  Sasha plopped some more sour patch kids into her mouth, at least three at once, and draped her arms over Marco’s shoulders, resting her chin on his head.  Her face contorted in slight confusion and reactionary sour-perplexity.

            “Facebook?” She inquired.

            “Yes, heh,” Marco smiled, slightly nervous.

            “You’re never on facebook,” she noted.

            “I’m on right now,” Marco challenged gently.

            “Well I mean for the most part.  If you were you would be liking all my hilarious status updates,” she poked his cheeks.

            “I just don’t like facebook very much,” he defended, squinting as Sasha’s fingers squished into his face.  “It all seems so insincere to me.”

            “Then why are you on it right now?”

            “I’m uh… looking for a classmate.” Marco’s response wasn’t convincing, even if it were true.

            “Jean Kirschtein?” Sasha read the in the search field. “I’ve heard of that kid.  He’s a theatre major, right? I heard he was kind of a jerk.”

            “Yeah, he’s a dick.  He gets in fights with teachers a lot,” Connie chimed in, not looking up from his computer.

            Marco tensed up.

            “I’m sure we don’t have the nicest reputations around school either, guys.”  Marco reasoned, nodding thoughtfully.

            “I don’t think anyone talks about us,” Sasha laughed.  She was right.  This little non-descript trio wasn’t very impressionable at school, aside from hogging the student lounge every Friday night in order to hook up the 360.  People knew that there were three film students who would use their TV privileges to play games in the student lounge, and that was all. 

            “Well, at least not you guys, heh.” Marco chuckled softly.  He was implying that people had bad things to say about him.  He was being self-deprecating again, and it was tiresome for his friends, to say the least.

            “Oh my gosh, hush up.” Exasperated, Sasha grabbed Marco’s skull and began to rotate it, trying to break his fixation with the screen.  She only knew the gist of his issues with himself.  She definitely knew enough to know when the silly boy was feeling down about himself.

            “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, okay? So what. We play games. We eat candy.  We don’t go to parties. We don’t smoke-“

            “Speak for yourself,” Connie interrupted.  Sasha was surprised he was listening at all.

            “Okay well-- regardless of whether you smoke or whatever or not, you’re not exactly a party-person, Connie,” she quipped before returning her attention to Marco.  He looked up at her with puppy-eyes.  “Anyways, we’re not really the kind of people who get talked about at all, really,” she gave a heartfelt smile before continuing. “We’re just going to have to be remembered in other ways.”

            There was a lot of wisdom to the words Sasha was belying, and Marco knew it.  Sasha was someone who he had befriended well before college, and they always shared a mutual bond and respect for each other, a bit like siblings.  She could always tell when Marco was in a little slump, and she did her best to pick him up.

            Marco beamed thankfully to the girl behind him, not knowing how to say the words “thank you for everything,” but saying it with his gaze instead.  She understood, and patted his head gently.

            “So, about your classmate.  What do you need him for? Did he fall asleep in class and wants notes from you?”

            “No, I was just…making sure I had him added in case we ever needed to um… work on a group project together. Or something. Heh,” Marco spoke in broken sentences when he lied.  He didn’t even notice when he did it, but the candy-monster who still had her arms around him noticed.

            “Oh well here just click the friend-request thingy, right there” she was moving his cursor to the blue button, but he grabbed her hand quickly and yelped.

            “NO, no don’t!”

            Sasha and Connie both gave him a quizzical gaze.

            “Ummm?” was all that Connie had to offer to the conversation.

            “Marco?” Sasha asked, a nervous smile on her face.

            “Please don’t.” Marco spoke more gently now, his voice pleading for understanding on his friend’s behalf.

            “Okay Marco, what’s up,” Sasha demanded.  “Tell me about this classmate that you’re creeping on.”

            “I—yikes, I am creeping, aren’t I?” Marco rubbed his neck nervously, like he was about to come clean about some serious crime he had committed. “Okay, well… you’re right, he’s a theatre major. Last week he transferred into the same Creative Writing class that Armin and I are in.   The only reason I know his name is because I saw the department’s musical a few weeks ago.  His name sounded funny in the pamphlet.” Marco was explaining.  Meanwhile, Sasha was harmlessly cycling through one of Jean’s photo libraries titled “Oscar Nominee of the Century.” 

            “He’s cute,” she noted.  She had stopped on a picture of him in what appeared to be a candid shot of Jean on stage in a Peter-pan costume.  He had a proud stance, and his tights were rather… accentuating.

            “Yeah, isn’t he?  He also knows Armin because after class he—WAIT!” Marco realized his fatal flaw too late, and began to blush and splutter.  Sasha cackled wildly.

            “Oh my god you have a crush on him!”

            “N-No! No I don’t,” Marco waved his hands frantically. “You tricked me!”

            “What’s wrong with liking him?” Sasha crossed her arms.

            “I don’t know! Everything?” Marco threw his hands up, exasperated. “Look at him, he’s got like… wow, over a thousand friends on facebook.  He’s attractive, he’s talented,” Marco peered closer at Jean’s “about me” details. “He works AND goes to school! Interesting. I didn’t have him pinned as a hair dresser, that’s kind of cool.” Marco was thinking outwardly now, and Sasha just nodded knowingly as he spoke. “Anyways, my point is he’s like... super awesome, and amazing and just cool. And I’m…”

            “You’re…?” Sasha asked expectantly, but her tone of voice suggested that if Marco had anything less than wonderful to say about himself, then she would personally kick his ass.  And she could, too.

            “Never mind, I just –“ Marco sighed wistfully. “I don’t think I should waste my time pining for someone who doesn’t even know I exist.”

            “You should ask him out,” she stated simply.

            “Are you kidding me?!” Marco nearly gasped.

            “You should,” Connie chimed in. Connie was joking, but Sasha was very serious.  Marco stared, perplexed by his friends’ support.  His eyes darted between them frantically.  He looked as though he was ready to short-circuit.  Sometimes he forgot how truly supportive his friends were, even if most of their time was spent cursing and yelling at each other via headset. 

            “Marco,” Sasha spoke calmly, but not missing a cheeky grin from her face, “you really like him, don’t you?”

            Marco sighed in resignation.  This was an action he always wrote for his characters, and now he finally knew what it meant when he himself did it.

            “Yes.  I think I really do, and I feel so stupid,” he was beginning another tangent, but Sasha halted him shaking her head.

            “Uh-uh-uh, no stupid feels.  We’ll take it slow, okay? Just take the first step. Add him on facebook for now.”

            It was a harmless plan, initially.  This guy had, as Marco had stated, over a thousand friends.  He’s probably the kind of guy who just accepted friend requests regardless of who they were.  That brought a bit of ease to Marco’s mind.  Perhaps just throwing him a simple request wasn’t that big of a deal, and if it was, all he had to do was explain that he was a friend of Armin’s and shared a class with him. He could make up a story about needing notes or something if things got desperate.

            “Okay. Okay okay okay okay. Okay. I’ll do it. Okay,” Marco was prepping himself, and Sasha giggled.  She took his hand, moved his cursor over the ominous little blue button with a white plus, and just to draw out the tension, waited a moment before making him click the mouse.  The button’s icon changed to “request sent,” and Sasha backed away triumphantly.

            “There.  Point of no return, now,” she pointed out.

            “I need to use the restroom,” Marco stated, standing up from his chair. He didn’t want to acknowledge what he has just done, and staring at his screen was undeniable proof that it had happened.

            He left the room, and Sasha took his place at his desk, planning on cycling through more of the actor’s photos because dang, he was some eye candy for sure, but something else happened instead.  Apparently, Jean was online right now, and apparently, he accepted the friend request.  Sasha had a wicked idea, and she grinned like an idiot.

            “What. What are you doing,” Connie asked worriedly. “I recognize that face.  You only look like that when you see Animal Fries or you have a mean idea.

            “He’s online right now.”

            “Who? The guy Marco likes?”

            “Yep.”

            “Kay?” Connie didn’t get it.

            “I’m just gonna…say hi for Marco,” Sasha began typing, and Connie moved his laptop and scooted to the edge of the bed, his interest suddenly rising.

 

[SET CHANGE.  Small apartment restroom. Standing shower, cramped toilet and little sink.  MARCO stares at the medicine cabinet as he runs the sink.  He splashes his face once.]

 

            At least five million thoughts buzzed around behind Marco’s wide, dark-leather eyes. At least half of the thoughts were utterances. Whispers of his inner conscience that told him that this was a mistake.  That pursuing this fantasy of meeting someone as high caliber and so far up the social food-chain as Jean Kirschtein, and then going to far as to try and befriend this person, was a huge bad idea and an all-around recipe for disaster.  He had nothing to offer Jean.  Nothing to bring to the table if, for some bizarre, indefinable happenstance of sheer luck and the proper alignment of the sun and stars and planets, Jean actually considered engaging with him.  These were the thoughts that crashed against his skull like an angry ocean inside his mind at first.

            The other half of the thoughts were things he had heard Sasha say to him over and over.  _Don’t talk down to yourself.  Don’t belittle yourself.  Don’t give up before you even try.  Don’t listen to nasty voice that says you’re not worth it._ These thoughts were quieter.  More subdued and gentle in their ebb and flow like a tranquil river.  It was hard to combat the loud thoughts with the quieter ones, but he figured the softer words were being heard because they had the same amount of resonance. These words were just as strong.  Just as impactful. That spoke to him.

            _Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am worth it._

Marco smiled to his reflection, trying to grasp that inner essence of peace he had just found before going back out in to the fray, surely to be interrogated further by Sasha and her never-ending need to be current in his love life.

            When he came out of the restroom, he noticed Sasha’s hunched-over posture, and the tip-tap sounds coming from his keyboard.

            _Oh no._

All conceptions of inner- peace vanished immediately.

“SASHA! What are you doing?” He gasped and leapt to her side, fumbling for the mouse to click-away from the chat-field.  The chatbox on screen was full to the point that required scrolling through older messages. “Oh my god!” Marco almost yelled. “Stop! Please stop! Oh my god!” Marco didn’t dare grab her, but he did pat her repeatedly with urgency.  She laughed uproariously at his distress.

            “Hahaha why, you two are having such a nice conversation!” She exclaimed.  Marco couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not, and he fought for control over the mouse so he could scroll through the conversation to verify.

 

Marco Bodt: hello!

Jean Kirschtein: hey

Marco Bodt: i think we have a class together?

Jean Kirschtein: yeah, i think so

Jean Kirschtein: creative writing?

Marco Bodt: yeah :D

 

            “Sashaaaaaa why’d you put a colon-D face?” Marco sounded appalled and offended, like it was the worst thing she could’ve done.  She just giggled as he scrolled.

 

Jean Kirschtein: cool, hehe. yeah I remember you

Jean Kirschtein: so what’s up

Marco Bodt: nm. just chillin with some homies

 

            “SASHA ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Marco had to laugh out of the ridiculousness of it all.  He was also laughing because he was nervous, like how you do when you think you’re in shock or about to die. “I don’t talk like this at all!”

 

Jean Kirschtein: cool mannnn

Marco Bodt: hbu?

Jean Kirschtein:  just avoiding my homework. I hate reading assignments ughhh

Marco Bodt: me too haha :P

Marco Bodt: you should come over

Marco Bodt: and play games with us

Marco Bodt: we’re getting pizza later

 

            “You invited him over?!” Marco looked pleadingly to Sasha.  He was hoping that this was all just some big set up.  He was praying that Connie made a fake profile to act as Jean in the short span of time that Marco was in the restroom, but Connie was not at his computer, and the conversation felt too awkward, too real to be a set up.

 

Jean Kirscthein: oh, haha. cool, cool. idk maybe, i’ll see. i’m not housed on campus, so idk

Marco Bodt: me either. 

Jean Kirschtein: oh really? are you at sina?

Marco Bodt: yeah!

Jean Kirschtein: cool, same.

 

            “He lives here? I’ve never seen him outside of school…” Marco pondered.  He was scouring the conversation with a detective’s attention to detail.

 

Jean Kirschtein: okay well i’ll see how i feel later.  i’ll send you an im or something

 

            After that, the chat log was empty.  Jean was waiting for a response from Sasha. Or from Marco, as far as he knew.  Sasha grinned up at Marco in triumphant glee, but Marco was less than pleased.

            “Okay, this has to stop.  Let me sit. I’m gonna explain that you were typing for me.”  Marco began to tap away at the keyboard and Sasha groaned.

            “Awwww, why? Come on, he’s thinking about coming over!”

            “No, he’s just being polite.  If he wanted to come over he would ask for the address or something.”

 

Jean Kirschtein: which building/room are you at, man?

 

            _Well then._

            Sasha peered at Marco who just gazed at his screen in disbelief.

            “He’s just being nice,” Marco reasoned calmly. “I’ll explain that you’re being a doofus and this is all a misunderstanding.”

            “Marco,” Sasha said quietly, “don’t you want him to come over?”

            “Not really! I don’t know him, and he’s not going have anything to do. We’re just going to start doing Battlegrounds, and he’s not going to have a computer and he’s going to realize how boring we are and—“

            “Okay, fine, fine.  You can tell him he can’t come over. You win.”  Sasha stated.

            “He’s right Sash, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” Connie was trying to be a voice of reason.

            “Connie, you’re just trying to make sure nothing gets in the way of you doing arenas later, don’t even try to lie to me.”

            Connie shrugged with a guilty smile. 

            “Marco,” she turned back to him, “if he comes over, we’ll make sure we’re not just sitting around.  It’ll be chill, I promise.”

            Marco sat quietly, looking at the screen.  He wanted so badly to just rewind a few steps in his day, make a few changes so that he wouldn’t have ended up in this terribly uncomfortable position.  All he wanted was for his Sunday night to play out normally.  He wanted to be comfortable with his friends, play comfortable games, eat comforting food, and just exist comfortably the way he always had.  This new adventure Sasha proposed threatened all of that.  He would be in a situation where he didn’t know what to say, or where to look, or how to breathe.  He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

            Marco began to type out a reply.

 

Marco Bodt: I’m sorry man, I stepped away from the keyboard and my friend decided it would be really funny t|

 

            He stopped typing, and he could feel Sasha watching him disapprovingly.  After a long sigh, he held backspace and began to type anew.

 

Marco Bodt: I’m at building four. Apartment 1340.

 

            Sasha grabbed his shoulders excitedly and shook him.

            “Eee! Connie he’s inviting his boyfriend over.”

            “Don’t call him that when he’s here, please,” Marco begged halfheartedly. 

            “Great.  Let’s do some dailies before he gets here.” The WoW title-screen music rose victoriously from Connie’s computer, and Sasha patted Marco’s back with pride before she scuttled back to her spot beside Connie.

 

            Marco was ready to close the webpage and start up WoW, but he checked the chatlog one more.

 

Jean Kirschtein: rad, thanks man.

Jean Kirschtein: ok, i’ll text you when i decide to come over. can i have your number?

Marco: 818-104-0019

Jean Kirschtein: thx.

Jean Kirschtein: all right well i better get back to reading. ttyl man

Marco Bodt: Okay. Bye!

 

            Marco’s stomach tightened and fluttered.  Something strange was going on if the universe decided that today would A) be the day that Marco actually speaks to Jean for an extended period of time, B) the only conversation actually exchanged between them on this day wasn’t even really him talking, it was Sasha, and C) today would also be the day that he hangs out with Jean.  Not passes him by. Not sees him in class.  Actually hangs out with him.  Marco briefly thought back to his fantastical _Romeo and Romeo_ story, and how he remembered thinking that things like this never happened.  You don’t just magically happen upon the opportunity to talk to your crush.  You don’t just happen to invite them over, and then they decide to say yes for whatever reason or another.  Things like this just didn’t happen.

            And yet, they were.

[END SCENE]

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Half_Princely (thehalfbodtprince on tumblr) for rigorously grammar checking me and being an all around awesome gal!
> 
> Again, THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR READING!! We'll start to see more Jean soon, I promise. Thankfully these are short chapters, so I hope the wait doesn't seem too long?? Any who, enjoy!!
> 
> Oh also this is essentially what Marco's Pyro looks like pfff http://tf2wiki.net/ww/images/thumb/a/a5/FvN_madame_dixie_screen.png/250px-FvN_madame_dixie_screen.png


	4. Establishing Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean hangs out with some dorks, and is it just him, or is Marco really adorable...??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Heads up! warning for skin picking / dermatillomania. It's not too extensive, it was just pointed out to me that it should be noted, though.***
> 
> SO. SORRY. THIS TOOK FOREVER. UGH.  
> I had massive writer's block for a while for this chapter, and second guessed myself a whole bunch. I hope it's not too apparent in this chapter, but I feel my writing style has changed over the course of my emergence as a novice fanfic writer, so hopefully it's not too jarring.
> 
> (also there are some super mini LAD and GS easter eggs in here, so keep an eye out for those, heh~)
> 
> Anyways, sorry again, and thank you so much for reading!! Enjoy!!! u3u

[SCENE 4] JEAN KIRSCHTEIN’S dorm.  Two bedroom apartment, a little messy, expensive furnishings like a flat screen TV, DVD player, trendy coffee table and the like.  The balcony is messy and stained with cigarette ashes. JEAN sits on the living room couch with a computer in his lap.

 

            Jean gazed at his screen with intensity.  An onlooker would assume he was trying to intimidate the inanimate object for information, and that would be a correct assumption to an extent. He read over the chat log again, wondering what he had done to cause the sweet, shy boy named Marco (thanks for the name, Facebook) to reach out to him. It was a little strange, honestly. He can’t remember the last person who just casually invited him out without really knowing him before hand.

            Now that he thought about it, the only time he was invited out was if it was with a large group or for a throwback.  No one invited him over for anything intimate, so this was definitely a shocker.

            Marco’s online presence was much different than his physical presence. That was for sure.  Online, this quirky dude seemed outgoing and goofy. In person he was closed off, insecure. Shameful, even, if Jean’s intuition was correct.

            All Jean had to go off of was opening night.  That was where he had first seen him.  It was the first night of the show, and Jean’s performance was _terrible._ The director had made sure to give him a mouthful about it as soon as the final curtain’s pulled.

            “Let’s hope you actually hit your notes tomorrow night, Kirschtein,” Levi had said, that bored, unimpressed tone ever-present as he spoke.

            “Yeah, maybe you should, you know, practice your fucking lines for once?” Eren interjected.  Jean was still too high from the combination of stage fright and nerves, but their criticism hurt. Of course it did. What kind of director tells you you’ve done a bad job the _second_ you come off stage? Mr. ooh-look-at-me-I’m-a-bigshot-from-Hollywood-Levi, that’s fucking who. And don’t get him started on Eren.  It was bad enough that he had to live with guy, and much to Jean’s embarrassment, _briefly dated him,_ but getting a mouthful from Eren after curtains?  Fuck that.

            But then…

            “Hey! Um,” a timid voice had called, and Jean knew it was for him.

            This… guy. This cute, soft-spoken, guy with the brightest, most sincere smile you’ve ever seen, had come up to congratulate him.  While everyone else was scurrying out of the theatre, or too intimidated to actually put forth the effort to congratulate the actors, this guy came to tell Jean he had done well.  The one thing he wanted to hear, and this goofball of a sweetheart, Marco, had given it to him.

            And then he ran away before Jean could even say thank you!

            _What a weird guy,_ he had thought…  

            Jean smirked dryly.  He rubbed his arm, feeling a little chilly with his shoulders exposed. It probably wasn’t he best idea to cut the necklines off all of his sweaters.  He liked off-the-shoulder sweaters, but he had to admit they were very impractical and _probably_ not the best choice for him, what with the very noticeable acne on his back and shoulders. Some days, he would just say fuck it and wear whatever he wanted.  Other days, he would stare at his reflection with bitter disapproval, mapping out every single imperfection and blemish on his body and scrutinizing each infected pore with disgust.  His skin, bright red over the areas where he would pick the scabs out of irritation, seemed jarringly uneven on the reflection in the mirror.  He knew he shouldn’t touch his face.  It was painfully obvious how sensitive his skin was to such carelessness. Nervous habits are hard to give up though, and for some stupid reason popping the damned white heads and getting blood all over his fingers seemed like a backwards way of maintaining his face and shoulders. Sure his face would bleed a bit, and he would have a wretched acne scar forever now, but hey at least that _one_ zit was gone, right…?

            You could say Jean was self-conscious, but that wouldn’t quite feel like the right way to put it.  Not to him.

            Jean wasn’t an idiot.  He wasn’t deceived by the flat-out lies put forth by glamour magazines.  The lie that supermodels and celebrities were some higher level of human beings.  The lie that they were physically perfect.  The lie that they all looked 100% airbrushed and flawless 100% of the time. And the worst lie of all, that that kind of perfection was _achievable._

Humans don’t have skin devoid of pores, or symmetrical bone structure, or tummies that don’t roll in on themselves when they bend. No, he knew what Photoshop and airbrushing was, and when he read People magazine it wasn’t because he was buying into the brain washing vitriol it tried to sell, that’s for sure.

            Jean was smarter than that.  He wasn’t stuck in fucking high school mode, thank god…

            But everyone else wasn’t.

            Other people still frowned upon you if you didn’t look a certain way. They expected you to strive for a perfection that was only attainable through photo editing.

            He knew this because he faced it all the time.

            People had trouble focusing on his eyes when they spoke to him, their gaze flitting between each white head and acne scar on his face, distracted from what he was saying. 

            Classmates would suggest acne creams that worked for them and their cousin and their best friend that he should totally try because it’s supposed to be a miracle potion.  They would drop these hints when he didn’t ask, and frankly, didn’t care.

            Girls would complain about how fat they were, when by his assessment, they weren’t even _marginally_ overweight.

            Everyone was petty and caught up in appearances, and much to Jean’s chagrin, he had to conform to an extent if he wanted to make it as an actor. He cared about his appearance because he _had_ to. Not because he wanted to.

 

            It was harrowing and tiresome, but it was a necessary evil he supposed.

 

            Today, he didn’t want to get dressed and face the world, which was a genuine drawback from having agreed to go to Marco’s place.  He just wanted to pout in silence as usual. 

            Right then, Jean was just a ball of hormones that he thought he left in high school.

            He felt gross. He felt horny. He felt angry, and excited, and hungry, and sleepy, and amped, and stressed.  When you have that many conflicting feelings inside you all at once, it tends to give you permanently grumpy expression.  That, and an insatiable need for cigarettes. 

            Jean stood from the couch with a stretch, popping his back and shuffling outside to the balcony where he fetched his cigarette carton and lighter. It was a bad habit, and Levi told him he was ruining his voice by sucking down those cancer sticks, but Jean had very few things in his life that subdued his mind.  Having a quiet space and some Marlboro menthols were a few of those things.

            He inhaled pensively, gazing at his neighbor’s balcony, which was the only view his own balcony offered.  There was a filthy lawn chair and a towel that was left out to dry and forgotten a month ago. Jean grimaced, begrudging the fact that he didn’t have an _actual_ balcony view, despite the price he and Eren were paying for this place. How lame.

            He then heard a tap on sliding glass door behind him.

            “I’m going out,” Eren said, keys in hand.  “And shut the door, man. I don’t want to smell that shit.”

            “Where are you going?” Jean didn’t turn around.  He didn’t acknowledge Eren’s request, either.

            “Dinner with Mikasa and Armin.  I’ll be a while.

            “Okay.”

            “We’re gonna take the living room later, too.”

            Jean sighed in response.

            “What are you gonna do?” Eren asked.

            “I dunno, jerk it? What do you care?” Jean’s tone was biting.

            “Just wondering if I should lock the door or not, jeez. You on your period or something?” Eren asked.

            “Fuck off, man.” Jean was quickly losing patience.

            “Whatever. Let me know when you’re done being pissy.”  Eren quipped as he left, shutting the sliding glass door defiantly.

Jean growled unbeknownst to himself.  He was so eager for the opportunity to move out of this place as soon as he could. Living with Jaeger was seriously going to give him an ulcer.  It was unfortunate.  At the beginning of the year they were a lot closer.  Friendly, still, even after the break-up. But more often than not, when you decide to move in with your best friend / ex-boyfriend, it just destroys the relationship.  You start to start to notice every little shortcoming about them.  Their faults tend to magnify, and suddenly when you used to be able brush off a few dirty socks left in the hallway once or twice, you now find yourself screaming your head into your pillow because _god damn it when will he learn to just pick up his fucking laundry have some fucking respect for fuck’s sake he always does this and his stupid friends are always over and I just want to be alone and why can’t he wash his fucking dishes ever or scrub the fucking toilet why do I have to do everything._

            These moments were happening more and more, and frankly, Jean wasn’t a very patient man to begin with.

            They were still reasonably civil to each other in public, but living him was constant reminder that they rubbed each other the wrong way.  They coexisted, but hardly in an ideal sense of the term. Jean punched himself mentally each time he remembered the fact they dated, regardless of howbriefit was.

            The more Jean thought about it, the more appealing going to Marco’s sounded. If everything Eren said was just going to tick Jean off, then he probably shouldn’t stick around the apartment tonight. 

            The drawbacks of going out? He was that he would actually have to put on concealer and fix his hair and look presentable. 

            The benefits? Maybe he could get out of his head for a while. Maybe he could put up the façade of being a fun, friendly person long enough to convince some people to befriend him.

            It was worth a shot.  He was an actor, after all, wasn’t he?

            Jean flicked his cigarette off the side of the balcony and went inside. Okay, so his night was settled. He was going to have to pick an outfit, and this was more of a ritual for Jean than anything else. It prepared the mental transition from “being at home brooding alone” to “now I have to smile a lot and act interested and  remember not to swear too much.” He groaned with a heavy sigh as he went back inside, not bothering to move his laptop from the couch, or his notebooks.  It was his defiant little way of telling Eren he didn’t give a fuck about his evening plans. And _god damn it is that one of Eren’s socks. I swear to god, Eren…_

Whatever. He’ll deal with that later.

            Jean made his way to his closet, ready to try on no fewer than 40 different outfits for the next hour.  What? If he was going to go hang out with people he doesn’t know, he wanted to make sure he looked cute as fuck.

 

/ / /

           

[SET CHANGE: Hallway of MARCO BODT’S dorm.  JEAN paces outside, nervously sucking on a cigarette ruffling his hair. He is clad in black flat boots, neutral make up, and an oversized, bright sweater.   

 

            This was a bad idea.  Jean was pretty sure of it.  But now he was committed. He texted Marco before hand to say he was on his way, and when Marco responded with a little smiley face Jean felt…obliged, to say the least.

 

 _Whatever,_ he kept repeating to himself.  _You’re making a big deal out of nothing._

He stomped out his cigarette and adjusted his sweater one last time before he finally knocked on the door. When Marco answered, pulling open the door and offering the sweetest, most genuine smile he had ever seen, Jean couldn’t help but smirk back.  _Not smile,_ but smirk.

 

            “H-hey!” Marco greeted, and stepped aside for Jean to come in. Jean greeted him with a nod and stepped inside, taking a gander around as he entered.  Cute little place.  Emphasis on little. He had to step over backpacks and forgotten jackets and shoes as he made his way in.  Sasha greeted Jean with a big smile and a mouthful of chips, and Connie smiled, but he was clearly a little uncomfortable,  Jean could tell.

            “Um,” Marco said, and scratched as his cheek, “I’m not sure if anybody knows each other. Jean, that’s Sasha and Connie, my room mates that don’t actually pay rent.”  He joked, and Sasha grinned playfully.

            “Hey,” Jean acknowledged them.  He recognized Connie from the class he switched out of earlier in the semester, but Sasha he had never met before.  That made things a little better, he figured.  He searched for a place to sit, because standing in the center of the room was just sort of domineering, he felt.

            “Oh wow, there’s nowhere to sit, is there,” Marco said.  He must’ve noticed Jean glancing around like a lost duckling. “Umm, here! You can have my chair. I’m so sorry, wow…” He apologized profusely, and Jean had to laugh.

            “It’s chill, dude,” he assured, and sat on the floor.  Marco seemed distressed about such a simple inconvenience; it was the dorkiest thing Jean has ever seen.

            And the cutest. 

            “You sure?” Marco asked, concern still evident in his voice. Jean was distracted, however, by a familiar tune he hadn’t heard since high school emanating from Marco’s computer.

            Wait… is that…?

            “Holy shit. Are you guys playing WoW?”  Jean asked, astonished.

            The other three people in the room seemed equally astonished, and didn’t speak. Jean almost felt embarrassed, but Marco was quick to follow-up.

            “Yeah!” He responded enthusiastically, then cleared his throat, quieting his voice. “Y-yeah, we were just doing dailies.  We were gonna stop when you got here, though.”

            “Do you play?” Connie asked suspiciously.

            “I used to play.  All the way from 8th grade to senior year.  Then the pandas got introduced and I just sort of-“ Jean made a tired gesture of rolling his eyes and sighing. “I wasn’t gonna stick around for that.

            “What did you roll, Jean?” Sasha asked promptly with a bright grin.

            “Human Ret Pally.  And a Undead affliction lock.”  Jean hadn’t used these terms in ages, but he immediately found himself reminiscing the second those terms left his tongue.  He hadn’t really played any games since high school.  He didn’t have time, what with play practice, the salon gig, classes, self-loathing and homework and all…

            “You should let him play one of your toons, Marco.”  Connie suggested.

            “Marco has a belf pally you can play! You should do bgs with us!” Sasha proposed, and Marco seemed a little left in the dust

            “Whoa whoa, calm down, guys. He just got here,” Marco was saying, but Jean had moved himself to sit in Marco’s chair and was already cycling through Marco’s toons.

            “Ah, so you got stuck with healing?” Jean asked. “Priest, Pally…” he listed the classes of Marco’s characters on screen.  There were some low level bank-alts, but the priest and the paladin were clearly his highest level characters. He recognized the light-color palettes of their gear and the mainly cloth-aesthetic. He used to crush squishies like that in bgs.

            “Yes, I’m the girlfriend of the group,” Marco laughed. “I like healing, unlike these guys.” He gestured to Connie and Sasha. 

            Marco had moved closer, overseeing Jean as he double clicked the paladin and proc’d a loadscreen.

            “I have to say, I am… surprised you play WoW. _Played_ WoW,” Marco said, correcting himself.  It was a strange thing to say, Jean thought, seeing as how Marco knew virtually nothing about him.  That kind of assuming normally makes Jean defensive, standoffish, unresponsive. It didn’t bother him that much, though. Not as much as comments like that normally do.  It seemed innocent enough.  Unassuming and genuine.

            “All right, let’s see what I’m dealing with here…” Jean immediately opened Marco’s paladin’s details and began to snoop.

 

            Jean tried to play a few rounds in Arathi Basin with Connie and Sasha, but Marco’s off-spec gear was not up to par with status quo for this sort of team play, and if he were being brutally honest…

            “Okay, I can’t.  I’m too fuckin rusty. I don’t even know what half of these moves even _do.”_ Jean admitted, only sort of ashamed.  Marco laughed easily, offering a forced pat on the back.

            “It was unfair of us to make you play. We can do something else.” Marco smiled easily and warmly, then glanced around his small room with a pondering expression.  “You like Super Smash Bros?”

            “Oh hell yes,” Jean was eager to stop embarrassing himself in the realm of Azeroth for a bit.

            The night was going so much more smoothly than Jean had even realized. That was probably a good sign. He was an anxious ball or nerves and prissiness before coming over, wondering the whole time if it was dumb of him or not, and then once he had come inside; once he was made welcome and a-part-of, he forgot all notions of ever being anxious.

            They ordered pizza, as promised, and Marco had about a million questions for Jean about the drama department, acting, hair-dressing (which Jean didn’t realize Marco knew he did but hey, that’s cool he supposed.) Connie and Sasha had a few questions every now and then, but for the most part, it was like a talk-show interview between Marco and Jean.

            And Jean _loved_ being the center of attention when it suited him.

            “So you’re a hair dresser?” Marco asked with wide, eager eyes.

            “In training, not really official yet.  I get my certificate in a few months.” Jean sounded cool and casual. He could tell Marco was impressed and was drinking in the positive attention.

            “Do you do your own hair?” Sasha asked.

            “Yep. I’ve been doing that for years, though.”

            “What’s the craziest hair-do you’ve had to do?” Marco asked.

            “Hmm…” Jean pondered, “Oh, god – okay, so one time, there was this tiiiny old woman. Frail little thing, could barely open the front door on her own.  You’d think she want a touch up on her roots or something, right? Wrong. She wanted her whole head pink. Barbie-hot pink.  She tried to get me to throw some blue in there, but I didn’t feel right turning this old lady into walking cotton candy.” Everyone in the room was chuckling easily, and Jean felt a warm sense of camaraderie. 

            This was…really nice.

            Eating greasy pizza, playing games, passing through the awkward tension of not really knowing a group of people but feeling at-ease enough to sort of at least pretend to relax made Jean forget how previously anxious and upset he really was.

            At least, that was the case until Connie and Sasha announced they needed to bail…

            So, here was the problem: the socially polite thing to have done, the _normal_ thing have done, would have been to leave as well.  Overstaying your welcome is just torture for the host, and even if they insist it’s no problem at all, you can’t help but feel like they’re just trying to be polite.  

            However, Jean did not want to leave. 

            He did not want to go back to Eren, Mikasa and Armin all laughing, sitting on the couch together and then falling silent the moment Jean walked in the door, visibly tensing up at his presence.

            He did not want to go back and finish his homework, or think about how he was probably going to have to bullshit the fuck out of his response-essay later.

            And Marco was really funny, and kind of a dork, and a little too nice for his own good, and just wow, really, _really_ pleasant to be around.

            Sasha and Connie had packed their things, and Jean found himself falling out of the ease of the casualness he had worked most of the night to attain and spiraling back into the anxiety of how-do-I-socialize-like-a-normal-person. He didn’t bring anything over, so while the other two were packing he just sort of sat and watched. When they were making their way for the door, Jean had a few false starts of making for the door as well.

            “Well, umm,” Marco had started to say, rather nervously.

            “Marco,” Sasha started,” you should show Jean one of your games!”

            Jean turned to Marco, curious.  Hadn’t they been playing his games all night?

            “Sasha,” Marco half-whined, “you know they all suck.”

            “Dude, come on! Don’t be so modest.  It’d be good to get feedback from someone who hasn’t really been on the game-scene for a while, right?” Sasha seemed very persistent, and Jean wasn’t sure how this chick was telepathically on his side, but he was grateful in the back of his mind.

            “That’s a fair point, actually,” Marco admitted.

            Sasha exchanged a smile with Marco before waving good-bye to them both. She and Connie exited the dorm, and Jean felt the pang of dead silence in the room.

            “Um,” Marco started shyly. “Y-you don’t have to see my game if you don’t want to, Jean.  Sasha was just being pushy. It’s nothing special, really.”

            Jean quirked an eyebrow, finally catching up to speed.

            “Wait, you _make_ games?”

            “Y-yeah, when I can.  School’s sort of gotten in the way recently, but yeah, I’ve made a few.”

            “No way.  Don’t you have to be a crazy hacker or some shit?” It was Jean’s turn to be impressed now, and he sat on Marco’s bed, ready to hear more.  Marco laughed at Jean’s inquiry, and he felt a little silly at that.

            “Nah, no hacking on my end.  Just some light coding.  But the engine I use is pretty user friendly.  I just made simple browser games, it’s not as impressive as it sounds,” Marco rubbed the back of his neck, and he was visibly blushing.  Wow, does this guy ever accept a compliment?

            “Show me one.  Show me the hardest one, I’ll beat it,” Jean insisted.

            With a little reluctance and more shyness, Marco eventually booted up one of his games after launching a program Jean had never seen.  After a pretty dense explanation of what the program was and what kinds of things Marco actually did inside of said program, Jean began to just filter out words and terms he didn’t understand, and just resorted to enjoying the enthusiasm with which Marco spoke.  He had never met someone who actually developed games before, and seeing the unrendered-version of something and all it’s bare bones was pretty cool.

            “So, in this game,” Marco started to explain as Jean took the seat in front of the computer, “you’re a warrior who is fighting to save humanity against these big giants.”  Marco was still holding on to the mouse, which kept him in close proximity to Jean. Jean couldn’t help but notice that he had a very faint yet pleasing scent about him, and he wasn’t paying enough attention to the explanation Marco was giving.  Something about defending humanity and it being a metaphor for the perseverance for the human spirit.  He felt a little bad for being so distracted.

            But Marco was really cute, and his tummy was sort of hanging out over his pants, and Jean felt it against his arms and he felt himself going warm at the contact.

            “Got it?”

            “Huh?”

            “Um, are the controls too complicated?” Marco seemed embarrassed.

            “N-no, no they’re fine.  Space to jump, click to attack, got it.”

            Thankfully Jean’s subconscious had picked up the instructions while he was thinking about how nice a hug from Marco probably was.

            “All right, cool,” Marco loaded the level and let Jean play.

            It wasn’t the cleanest thing Jean had ever seen.  The graphics, for lack of a better term, were rudimentary at best, and Marco had to keep apologizing for bugs that would prevent Jean from playing. But as Marco had explained, this game was in an early stage of development, and Jean was just impressed by the fact that Marco had made the damn thing all on his own.

            “This is really cool, Marco,” he had to admit. 

            “O-oh gosh, no, it’s horribly buggy, and it’s not even playable enough for you to get a good sense of it.” Marco insisted.

            “Well, whatever.  I like it. Can’t believe you did this all on your own.”

            Marco didn’t have a response.  He just smiled and turned into a big, red, blushing tomato. God damn it, are people allowed to be this adorable?

            To Jean’s chagrin, his eye caught the time at the corner of the Marco’s computer screen.

            “Holy fuck, is it really 1 already?” His eyes widened with horror as he gazed up at Marco.

            “Oh my gosh, i-it is late, wow.”  Marco backed away so Jena could stand.

            “Well, fuck.  Guess I’m bullshitting that essay.  Sparknotes, here I come.”

            Marco laughed nervously.

            “I still have an assignment to do, too.  Guess we’re both condemned to little-to-no sleep tonight, huh?”

            “Yeah…” Jean agreed.

            They were both silent.  Jean knew his welcome had officially run out, and he had serious bullshitting to do anyway, so now seemed like the appropriate time to make his leave.

            “All right well, fuck—I better hightail it.”

            “Good idea.  If you stayed any longer I’d make you suffer through more of my horrible games,” Marco laughed.

            “Hey, I’d rather play your horrible games than annotate Fried Green Tomatoes, okay?”

            “Well, you can by any time. I got lots of shitty games for you to play.”

            “Awesome,” Jean smiled. He smiled sincerely.

            That felt weird.

            “Awesome,” Marco responded, and he was always sincere, he figured, so that was normal for him.

            Marco led Jean to the door and waved goodbye to him.  As Jean walked back to his apartment, easily popping open his cigarette carton and placing one between his lips, he smiled like a true dork.

            He had a really nice night, and he hoped he’d get to come by again soon.

 

[END SCENE]

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you got this far, thank you SO much for reading! This is my first time attempting a serious, multichapter series, so I expect it to be a bit awkward. Any con-crit is totally welcome!
> 
> I'm going to be throwing a quite a few game-related terms in this work, so I'll try not to go too heavy with them, but I will include explanations when necessary.
> 
> this key is going off the assumption that you've never played a game in your life, so forgive me if it's a little too cautious eheh
> 
> WoW = World of Warcraft  
> Party = a group of usually 5 or more players (at least in WoW terms)  
> Raid = a large-scale dungeon that requires multiple players to play through.  
> Healer = someone who restores health the rest party
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


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